


Endure

by Meowth



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Curses, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Erik is gay and stupid for Eleven, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, I feel like I should tag that cause I know lots of people write him as Sylvia/genderqueer, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, M/M, Male Pronouns for Sylvando, Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Poison, Selectively Mute Hero, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Swearing, Torture, Vomiting, Whump, also this is unbetad, big spoilers now, don't read if you don't want Erik's past spoiled, lots of swearing, really gay, so please forgive any typos OTL, which is fine but idk I just don't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowth/pseuds/Meowth
Summary: Erik's gone through a lot for the Luminary--and he's willing to go through a lot more. If it means he'll be forgiven, he'll endure all the pain in the world.Collection of one-shots mostly involving Erik whump and hurt/comfort at particular points throughout the game. Erik/Hero in later chapters and spoilers for Erik's arc in Act II.





	1. The Manglegrove

**Author's Note:**

> So full disclosure, these are all really self-indulgent and mess around with canon some. They're also mostly not very good--some of them I literally typed on my phone because I have no time to sit at home and write these days. But I had to get them out and I figured I might as well post them and contribute to this tiny fandom. ; ; So maybe some of y'all will enjoy them. Plus, it's Whumptober, so there's that. First chapter is a pretty shameless poison fic, LOL.
> 
> I haven't finished the game yet so forgive me if anything seems off--I did however just finish Erik's arc in Act II so there's that at least.
> 
> Also some tags and characters are for future chapters!! And I will update more as I go along.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy I guess!!!

It’s just after they’ve entered the Manglegrove, during a spat with a particularly nasty pack of monsters, that Erik goes and gets himself hurt.

Truthfully, he has no one but himself to blame. He’s too distracted by his own thoughts—mostly centered on the silent brunette fighting next to him—to keep a proper eye on his surroundings, and like an _idiot, _he doesn’t notice the second batch of enemies until it’s too late and one is already upon him. It some sort of disgusting worm-like creature they haven’t encountered before_, _and Erik yelps as it slams into his side, a mess of teeth and slimy skin. He tries to guard then, he really does, but the monster is surprisingly strong, and Erik is just too _slow. Useless. _It thrashes and knocks Erik’s knife from his hands, and then Erik catches a flash of teeth as it opens its mouth wide.

It bites down, and Erik can’t help but let out a cry as pain blossoms in his side.

The Luminary whirls around at the sound, eyes frantic. Erik has never seen him move so fast as he does then, cutting down the monster with one fell sweep and sending it hurtling into a nearby tree. It’s an impressive display of strength, honestly, and Erik admires it very distantly as his hand flies to his stomach, where blood is already seeping through his punctured tunic.

Just like that, the encounter is over, the forest falling back into the steady din of birdcalls and Erik falling heavily onto his backside in the mud. “Ow,” he manages, and lets out a breathy, nervous sort of laugh.

The Luminary—Eleven, he said to call him, though Erik still has a hard time with it—is at his side in an instant, dropping his sword, hands fluttering awkwardly from his knee, to his shoulder, to his stomach. There he pauses, and he looks at Erik for a moment, tense, and worried, and imploring, until finally Erik lets out pained breath and peels his hand away so the other can get a proper look at the wound. His palm comes away sticky and red, and he pales a bit, sitting up a little straighter.

He goes to untie his sash then, but a wave of pain makes him abort the movement, grunting and leaning back on his palms. Erik squeezes his eyes shut, trying for a moment to just _breathe _and get the deep-shooting pain under control. _Fuck, _that hurt—seemingly more than it should. The next thing he’s aware of, Eleven is touching him, untying his sash with deft fingers and pulling his tunic gingerly up to his waist. Under other circumstances, Erik thinks he might be a bit embarrassed, but he can’t muster it right now. He watches with a sick sort of curiosity as the injury’s revealed and regrets it immediately.

“Ugh,” he mutters, and swallows thickly, feeling suddenly ill. “Looks even worse than it feels.”

Blessedly, the monster wasn’t able to actually tear away a chunk of flesh, but it did leave several puncture wounds that ooze dark blood in the twilight. They don’t look particularly deep, but the amount of blood and ugly bruising around them make the Luminary grimace, more emotion than usual showing on that stoic face.

He prods at the flesh around one of the wounds, and Erik gasps sharply, seeing stars. _“Fuck,” _he says. “Don’t _do _that.”

The Luminary has the decency to look a little apologetic, but leans back on his heels and shakes his head. He rummages around in his pack for a moment, searching for supplies…

… and then rummages around for a while longer, movements sharp with a bit of alarm.

Erik watches him, blinking sluggishly. “What,” he says after a moment, “Don’t tell me we’re out of medicinal herbs.” Uneasiness lances through his stomach at the thought. Well… There were always Eleven’s healing spells, and even if he didn’t have enough energy in him to patch Erik up completely, it’d surely be enough to for him to make it to the next campsite. And there were always vendors wandering around those places with weapons and medicines for sale… Yeah, he would be fine. He’s had worse, after all. 

“Hey, it’s fine, Hero.” Erik sits up slowly, lowering his tunic and forcing a pained smile. “I’ll be okay. Let’s just keep mo—” The Luminary shakes his head though, and Erik pauses when he yanks out a roll of bandages and a sack of pungent medicines. “What?” Erik smiles, relieved, and tilts his head to the side. “So, we do have some. What’s the big deal, then?”

Eleven continues to shake his head, tossing his long, ashen hair with the movement. Erik knits his brow and reclines back on his hands again, watching the other wet a cloth with one of their waterskins. The Luminary leans in close, and Erik lets him wipe very gently at the wounds. It still hurts, but not as badly as when he’d messed with it before. They’re both silent for a while as the supposed-Darkspawn tends to him, slowing the bleeding with soft green magic before bandaging him up. Erik thinks for a moment then that this should be awkward—that he should be uncomfortable with someone else so close, touching him so intimately, and so caringly. And he would be, he thinks, if it was anyone else.

But this guy—this simple villager with such an incredible weight laid upon his shoulders—is different.

He has no choice but to have faith in the Luminary after all, and putting your trust in someone always means making yourself vulnerable. There is no other alternative.

(Erik wonders vaguely if that’s the only reason why he doesn’t mind the Luminary touching him so much, but he can’t think about it right now, fears that train of thought will go down a particularly dangerous path. So he stops it in his tracks and crumples it up mercilessly, throwing it somewhere in the back of his mind where he might, if he’s feeling particularly brave, deal with it later.)

The Luminary pulls away when he’s finished and runs a hand through his hair. He meets Erik’s eyes then, his own still full of concern and unease. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and Erik listens intently for those incredibly rare words. Already, he’s learned to shut up and _listen _when Eleven has something to say.

But sometimes, even when he _has _something to say, Erik knows, Eleven _can’t. _Now seems to be one of those times; try as he might, the Luminary just can’t get the words out, and after a moment he gives up with a very small exhale of frustration.

He stands, and offers Erik a hand. Erik gingerly readjusts his tunic and takes it, wincing as he climbs to his feet. “I’ll be all right,” he says, and offers a reassuring smile, still a little bewildered that anyone is even concerned for him in the first place. The wound in his gut hurts a lot, but it’s not life-threatening, so Erik just pops one of the stronger medicinal herbs in his mouth and chews it, slowly. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s keep moving.” They have the entire world to save, after all.

…

It becomes apparent within only a couple of hours though, that something is very wrong.

Erik doesn’t understand at first. He doesn’t understand why he can’t seem to catch his breath, or why the pain in his gut only continues to get worse no matter how many times Eleven heals him. He knows that healing magic isn’t a miracle cure, but it’s still always served them well, knitting their wounds and eliminating their pain until they can get to a camp or proper doctor and set themselves right again. But for some reason, it just isn’t working this time.

He swallows thickly as he trudges onwards through the damp underbrush, trying to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. That’s all he needs to do, after all—all he’s ever needed to do. _Just keep moving forward. Don’t look back. _

_(But still, never forget what you did.)_

But the mud feels like it’s clinging to his boots every time he takes a step, trying to weigh him down, and _dammit, _he feels ill—like he’s going to puke, or pass out, or perhaps both. Wouldn’t that just be the worst? If he went and collapsed in front of the Luminary, the very person he’s supposed to be helping and protecting, when they’ve only just set out on their journey.

He’d really be useless then, wouldn’t he?

He just needs to keep _moving._

The Luminary pauses for a moment to read their map, and Erik takes the opportunity to sink gratefully onto a nearby log. He swallows and presses an arm against his throbbing midsection, leaning over and staring hard at the ground in an attempt to make the world stop spinning.

But it doesn’t. Saliva floods his mouth and he swallows again…

… and again.

… Oh _fuck. _The next thing he knows, he’s folded over and retching, emptying his stomach of their modest lunch. He can’t see or hear very well then—it’s all drowned out by the ringing in his ears and the pain in his gut—but he’s aware distantly of the downright _awful _noises he’s making and _boy, _he thinks, does this just fucking _suck._

He throws up in front of the log, then stands and stumbles away from the Luminary, into the woods, where he leans against a tree and throws up some more.

Goddess above, he wants to die right then. And maybe he is dying, he thinks. His stomach certainly thinks he is, and if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that a man’s stomach doesn’t lie. Or something like that. He also wants to be alone, but after a moment Eleven comes up beside him and places a hand on his back. It’s a comforting, almost maternal gesture, and Erik hates how grateful he is for it, hates how kind the other is being when he certainly doesn’t deserve it.

_You shouldn’t bother with someone like me, _he thinks distantly. Despite the Seer’s words, he can’t help but feel this way. _The Luminary would be better off just leaving him behind._

But Eleven doesn’t leave him, even though Erik’s puking is just downright _disgusting. _He doesn’t say anything either—just stands and rubs the space between his shoulder blades, his other hand hovering in case he falls.

It takes a minute or two, but finally, it seems as if there’s nothing left to come up and Erik is left gagging and sputtering, trying to catch his breath. _“Fuck,” _is the first thing he says, followed by, _“I’m sorry.” _The Luminary just shakes his head and guides him away from his own mess, away from the log they first stopped at and a little deeper into the forest. He finds another place for Erik to sit—a rock this time—and helps him to it, holding more of Erik’s weight than the thief would like to admit. Erik shudders, leaning over his knees and pressing a hand against his eyes. He has a throbbing headache and can feel sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Gods, what is _wrong _with him? He feels like he should know, but trying to find the knowledge is like grasping at straws. He just can’t _think._

He wants so badly to just lie down and go to sleep then, and indeed starts to slide ever so slightly to the side. The Luminary catches him though, holding his shoulders, and Erik looks up at him blearily, a little confused. “I…” He hesitates, throat raw, swallows, and then tries again; “Sorry, I don’t feel too good…”

Eleven is holding his pad of paper, having fished it out of his bag a moment ago. He shoves it in Erik’s line of sight, pointing insistently until Erik reads the thing, dizzily.

_“You’ve been poisoned,” _it says.

Erik blinks, bewilderedly. “Oh.” _Oh. _Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually.

The next line reads, _“I don’t have the antidote with me.”_

“Oh,” Erik says again, and swallows. “Well, that’s not good.”

Eleven shakes his head and points to the third line; _“There’s a campsite not far from here, and a woodcutter’s house. We’ll go there.”_

Erik nods absently and closes his eyes, face constricted in pain. “Yeah,” he says, though he’s drifting a little. “Okay…” There’s some distant part of him that thinks he probably shouldn’t pass out—that passing out now would be _really inconvenient _for the Luminary, and that’s the absolute _last _thing he wants. But the larger part of him is too tired and dizzy to care, and if he could just rest for a _moment, _he thinks, he’d feel better and could…

His thoughts are cut short by Eleven shaking him, just enough so that pain lances through his gut and head. Erik groans, opening his eyes to glare weakly at the other. “What,” he mumbles, “Why’re you…”

The Luminary presses his lips together, face pale, and pulls him to his feet. Erik stumbles as the world lurches and twists around him, letting out another pathetic groan and squeezing his eyes shut against the dizziness. “Hey, okay, I… ‘M up already. Come on…” He can’t seem to really form a complete thought right now, but he’s annoyed all the same by the manhandling. He could walk just _fine _on his own, thank you very much.

…

He couldn’t walk just fine on his own.

By the time they reach the campsite, Eleven is supporting most of Erik’s weight, the thief drifting dangerously in and out of consciousness despite the constant squeezes and rough readjustments the Luminary uses to try to keep him awake. Later, Erik will look back and think that _gods, _it’s a good thing they weren’t attacked by another batch of monsters while he was in this state, because he’d be _deadweight _in the event of a fight, and even the Luminary, with his almost frightening strength, might struggle a bit in that situation.

He’s a liability, Erik will think, and feel a sharp wave of hatred for himself, one that makes him hold his stomach in pain.

At the moment though, he can’t think anything, isn’t really aware of much other than the pain that burns like fire in his gut. His hand that isn’t slung over the Luminary’s shoulders has been pressed firmly against his midsection for the better part of the last hour. The injury there isn’t bleeding anymore, but it feels now as if something is trapped inside, pressing against the fresh bruises, trying to escape.

They stumble into the clearing like the disheveled messes they are, startling a merchant who’s already setting up camp. There’s a whirlwind of activity then that Erik can’t quite follow. The merchant—a fat, friendly-looking man, as merchants tend to be—rushes over to help the Luminary support his weight. Erik thinks words are exchanged—that Eleven actually _says _something, in that soft, quiet voice of his—but he can’t be sure. He tries very hard then to stay conscious, lifting his head and slurring a faint protest, or perhaps a plea.

He wants to hear the Luminary then. He wants to _listen _to whatever it is he’s saying.

But he can’t hear anything as the ringing in his ears grows louder. He’s dimly aware of being moved, of muffled voices, and he catches a glimpse of the Goddess above him, smiling down at him with that soft, benevolent face that reminds him so much of Eleven.

Then, he’s gone.

…

When Erik wakes up, it’s to a pulsing pain in his temples and Eleven’s unblinking gaze, those piercing blue eyes staring directly into his own.

It’s enough to make him actually _jump, _once he realizes he’s being stared at. He inhales sharply and opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is, it’s cut off by a groan as—like a fucking _idiot—_he jostles the wound in his stomach. Groaning, in turn, makes him cough, which hurts like a _bitch, _especially lying down like this, and for a moment he’s in absolutely misery as pain pulses through his body_, _a flash of embarrassment rounding the whole fit off nicely.

He struggles to sit up, and Eleven springs into action, supporting his back with one arm to help him. He really is too kind. (How anyone could think _this guy _was the spawn of evil is beyond him, but he doesn’t have the time or energy to contemplate it now.)

The fit subsides quickly enough, thank the gods, and then Erik finds a waterskin pressed into his hands. He drinks greedily, relishing the way the cool water soothes his throat and makes him feel a little bit more like a human being again. “Thanks,” he mutters, looking at Eleven—who is _very close, _he realizes belatedly—and handing him the waterskin back. The hero just nods, in that infinitely patient way of his, one hand still planted firmly against Erik’s back. Erik isn’t sure if he really needs it there anymore—he can _probably _sit up on his own now—but the pressure is kind of… nice, so he decides not to say anything.

Erik’s eyes wander from the Luminary to their surroundings. They’re in the same campsite they arrived at… yesterday? Hours ago? Erik isn’t sure. “How long was I out?” he asks, swallowing thickly. His tongue feels heavy and numb in his mouth.

Eleven averts his eyes, shifting uncomfortably for a moment before shrugging, noncommittally. Then he squints up at the sky though; the low-hanging sun is just visible through the forest’s branches. Finally he holds his hands up, both palms open wide.

Erik balks. “Ten hours?”

The Luminary closes two of the fingers on one hand.

“E-eighteen?!”

The hero shrugs again, as if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Erik can only stare at the other, guilt sloshing around in his stomach, and for a moment he feels like throwing up again, sweat beading on the back of his neck. _Gods, _he thinks. He delayed them for nearly a full _day? _They’d only set out on their journey less than a _week _ago, and already he’s proving to be more of a fucking _burden _than anything else. But then, what did he expect?

_You can’t do anything right, can you, big brother?_

Erik tears his eyes away from the Luminary, dipping his head. “I-I’m sorry,” he mutters, ears burning. “I… Uh. I really fucked up, huh?” He thinks back to the battle, to the disgusting creature that managed to do him in like this. It wasn’t anything special, he remembers—some slimy, worm-like _thing—_and honestly, that battle would have been a _breeze, _if he hadn’t been distracted and had been pulling his goddamn weight.

He’s such an _idiot. _“It won’t happen again,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling the need to assure the other, to make sure he understands. An apology isn’t enough though, he thinks; he needs to prove his _worth_ somehow. He doesn’t… He doesn’t want Eleven to think he’s better off _without _him.

(But he can’t help but think to himself that maybe he is.)

He’s about to say something else, some other excuse, but then he lifts his head and sees the look on the other’s face, the way his brow is knit in a mixture of confusion and pity. The words die on his tongue as Eleven shakes his head, and he sees him bite his lip, as if hesitating for a moment.

Erik thinks he wants to say something then—

So he’s not prepared when Eleven leans in, arms coming up to wrap very gingerly around his shoulders.

Erik freezes, eyes snapping wide open. Half of it is instinct; he isn’t used to people hugging him—can’t actually even _remember _the last time he was hugged—and the sudden proximity is enough to set off his _very sensitive _fight-or-flight alarm. The other half is shock, because although they get along just _swimmingly, _the Luminary has always kept to himself, and Erik is pretty sure he can count the number of times they’ve consciously touched each other on one hand. Erik has always thought him pretty reserved, and that’s fine.

But as Eleven tightens his grip, his chin actually _tucked _into the space between Erik’s neck and shoulder, that image of him cracks, and Erik feels his ears flush hot with embarrassment.

He opens his mouth, manages a very distinct, _“Um?” _and then closes it again. His arms come up as if to return the hug, but then hover there, awkwardly. What is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to do in a situation like this? Erik thinks that maybe he knew at one point, but now he can’t remember. He swallows thickly, feeling a surge of several different emotions that he doesn’t have the energy to process right now. Concern is among them, though; Is the Luminary _okay?_

He’s about to ask as much when he hears that voice, quiet and muffled slightly against his neck; “Don’t be stupid,” Eleven says, and Erik shuts up, listening intently.

“I thought… I really thought you were going to die.”

Erik furrows his brow, biting back the urge to ask for more; _“And?” _

(He thought he was going to die? And so what if he did? The world would keep turning, and the Luminary would continue on his journey—he might even be better off than before. Perhaps deep down, he knows he just wants some sort of reassurance, wants Eleven to say that he’s _wanted._

_But even if he said it now, Erik probably wouldn’t believe him.)_

Eleven sighs, and squeezes him for a second before slowly pulling away. His hands linger on his shoulders though, warm and heavy, and those blue eyes lock with Erik’s, holding him in place. There’s an unfathomable depth of emotion there—relief, and pleading, and so much more. Erik can’t process it; he’s still reeling, and his stomach flutters uncomfortably, though he doesn’t think it’s from the poison this time. Eleven’s face is mere inches from his own, and he swallows, nervously.

The Luminary hesitates as well, eyes skittering off to the side for a moment as if he’s searching for the right words before flickering back and capturing Erik’s own again. “Don’t… go scaring me like that again,” he says. “Okay?” (How he could say it with such a straight face, without even the hint of a blush, is beyond Erik. And it’s totally unfair.)

Erik opens his mouth uselessly, then closes it again; he has no idea what to say. Eleven was _scared? _For _him? _It’s almost laughable, and yet the look on Eleven’s face is deadly serious, and the urge to protest dies on Erik’s lips. He wants to escape then. He doesn’t want to make some sort of promise that he can’t keep, much less one that he shouldn’t be bothering with, when they have so many more important things to focus on. Erik’s safety is secondary—it _has _be secondary.

But at the same time, he can’t possibly bring himself to tell the other, _“No.” _Not when he’s looking at him like _that._

So he nods faintly, hesitantly, feels himself blushing like an _idiot _high up in his cheekbones and says, “Yeah. 

“Okay…

“… And sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


	2. Gondolia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you know... Gondolia, but...... more fucked up. 
> 
> Goes off the rails from canon. Erik gets hurt a lot worse. Jasper knows him from before. All that jazz. Also Eleven hardly is in this chapter but Sylvando shows up and honestly I love Sylvando, I just want to write him taking care of Erik all the time like the big sister he is.
> 
> IDK, just take it. This chapter got too long and I'm too tired, so I just cut it off at a certain point and I'll continue it in the next chapter probably. Also, warning for big spoilers for Erik's past in Arc II!!!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Looking back, Erik would regret yelling at Eleven the way he did. He’d regret slapping the other’s hand away, and he’d regret growling those selfless but _stupid_ words, and he’d regret making the Luminary make a face like _that_, making his eyes darken with hurt and concern. He’d regret a lot of things, looking back—more and more mistakes to add to the pile.

But he wouldn’t regret taking the hit.

He did it without thinking, without any hesitation. Much like that time back in Heliodor, when they’d only known each other for a few short hours, he leapt before he looked and took the blast of dark magic directly to his chest. The pain that hit him then was unlike any he’d ever experienced before—a sharp wave of agony, somehow hot and cold at the same time, that tore through his lungs and burst out from somewhere between his shoulder blades. Beyond the pain, the sensation itself was just _wrong. _Erik didn’t know much about magic; the earth spells he used weren’t so much something he _knew_ as something he just _felt_. But he wasn’t totally ignorant.

He knew enough to know dark magic wasn’t something you fucked around with.

And he knew that a spell like this was enough to make men far greater than him fall.

He’d known that when he’d leapt in front of Eleven—he just hadn’t _cared. _Eleven, he’d thought, was important; far more important than _his_ sorry ass, and he couldn’t afford to let the Luminary be captured in a place like this because of something so trivial as them wanting to see a show. He was important to Erdrea—to the entire goddamn _world_, for that matter.

(Of course, he was also important to Erik—far more important than Erik could even fathom, much less put into words. Erik thought about this sometimes when they were out camping under the stars and he rolled over to see the gentle planes of Eleven’s face glowing softly in the moonlight. Sometimes he’d lay there, watching the other silently, and start to contemplate the almost-painful sense of longing that swelled up in his chest. But every time he’d cut those thoughts off quickly, smothering them before they could fully form.

He cared about Eleven. That was all he needed to know.)

Who was Erik to _not_ throw himself in harm’s way to protect the Luminary, the person who was to save them all from almost-certain destruction?

_No one_, Erik thought, as he lay there writhing on the stone, trying to so much as _breathe_ through the incredible pain in his chest. He was nothing. It was only a matter of seconds before Jasper’s men were upon him, and then there were hands all over his body, weight pinning him down, and it was too much, he couldn’t breathe, he wasn’t going anywhere _anyway_, for fuck’s sake, not when his lungs felt like they were trying to turn themselves inside out.

For a very brief moment then, Erik thought he was going to die.

But then he heard Jasper’s voice and knew that _no_, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

“You again, you damn _dog_.”

The weight on Erik’s back was removed. He sucked in a desperate lungful of air, and then grunted as his arms were twisted behind his back and he was yanked up to a standing position like some sort of rag doll. For a moment he was too dizzy to focus, head lolling uselessly against his chest, but then a harsh hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look into Jasper’s furious, narrow eyes.

“To think you’d stick around the Darkspawn this long, only for him to throw you away like the waste you are.”

Erik grimaced. He couldn’t respond right away. His chest still throbbed painfully, and Erik didn’t think it was going to stop any time soon. But he could breathe a little easier now that he was standing, and finally, after sucking in a shallow breath, he managed to reply; “Threw myself away, more like.”

Jasper snorted. “So at least you know your own worth.”

Erik rolled his eyes, the insults sliding off of him like water. He was in too much pain to focus on them right now, and besides that, Jasper wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know already. “That’s right,” he coughed. “I’m not worth much, huh? So you might as well just kill me and get it over with.”

(He had the brief thought then, that if he died he wouldn’t be able to see Eleven’s smiling face anymore. And he thought of Mia, hand outstretched, waiting forever for a brother who’d never come home.

_I’m sorry, _he thought.)

Jasper was silent for a moment, assessing him. Those eyes—dark, cold, and menacing; Erik had always hated those eyes—drifted downwards from Erik’s face, raking across his whole body in a way that made Erik shudder. An unpleasant wave of memories washed over Erik then, of his capture back in Heliodor. It’d been Jasper who’d caught him then as well.

_And he could still remember the feeling of cold, armored hands, of fists buried deep in his stomach and blood running down his face. He’d thought he was going to die then, but that time he hadn’t had any hope to cling to, hadn’t had a reason to hang on so desperately, hadn’t had Eleven. He’d just had a bunch of broken ribs, and an eye so swollen he’d thought he was going to go blind, and Jasper laughing in his face, sick, and twisted, and enjoying it._

He’d known plenty of sadistic prison guards in his life, but Jasper took it to a whole different level. A thought occurred to Erik then, though; how _had _he survived that encounter? He’d been so sure that Jasper was going to just keep beating and beating him until he was a broken, bloody mess on the floor, far past the point of return, in terms of brain damage at least. And yet he hadn’t.

Erik couldn’t remember the details, could only remember that at some point he was left alone in that cell, and that he never saw Jasper again after that.

He doubted he’d have the same good fortune twice.

He swallowed thickly as Jasper’s hand traced downwards from his chin to his chest. Erik cursed his open neckline then, as it allowed the other to gouge a shallow wound into his flesh with one armored claw. Erik choked, his chest throbbing with dark magic, and Jasper smirked.

“No,” he said finally, withdrawing his hand and patting Erik gently on the cheek. “I don’t think so. We’ll find a use for you yet.”

...

They tied him up unceremoniously, twisting his arms behind his back in a way that pulled painfully at both his shoulders. He couldn’t exactly complain, though—wasn’t given a chance before they gagged him as well, stuffing his mouth with a musty (but at least fairly clean) rag. Then he was left alone with a pack of guards for a while as Jasper directed the search for the Luminary and no doubt devised some disgusting plan that’d involve way more cruelty than necessary. He was just that sort of guy.

The guards seemed blessedly disinterested in him, which Erik had learned long ago was always better than the alternative. He quickly found that their disinterest didn’t equal inattentiveness, though. Well, he’d expect that much at least from Jasper’s own men. There was no out, no opening for Erik to try to make a break for it, so he didn’t bother. Even if he did manage to escape, he doubted he’d get very far in his current condition, so all he could do was sit against some crates piled up near the port’s arena and try to conserve his energy.

He didn’t have much of it.

And in his exhaustion, it was harder than usual to keep his thoughts from wandering.

They wandered to Eleven first, and then the others. Veronica, and Serena, and even that bizarre Sylvando character... Erik recalled the way he’d shouted so loudly, the way he’d fearlessly drawn the guards’ attention to allow his and Eleven’s attempted escape. He’d have to thank him for that, he thought vaguely, if he ever got the chance. And he wondered, had they gotten away? They must have—otherwise they’d be trussed up like turkeys alongside him, wouldn’t they? How far had they gotten? Were they okay?

He couldn’t deny the worry that curled like a python in the pit of his stomach.

Was Eleven okay?

The look on his face when Erik shouted at him to go flashed across his mind’s eye again

Erik squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back against the hard, wooden crates. He hadn’t meant to hurt him like that. _And believe me, _he thought, _I wish there’d been another way. _But there hadn’t.

It wasn’t that he wanted to die here—far from it. He still… had so many things he needed to do. But even so, if his death meant that Eleven and the others lived, then…

_You’re not only condemning yourself, you know._

He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a shaky breath and pressing his head back against the crates behind him. _I’m sorry, Mia, _he thought. _I really am._

He could only hope that the Luminary and his companions had gotten far, far away by now—that they hadn’t let their kindness get the better of them. That they’d left him behind.

That was what Erik wanted.

...

He’d fallen into a fitful sort of doze by the time Jasper returned, and was woken by a harsh hand grabbing his hair, slamming his head into the wooden crates hard enough that Erik saw stars. He groaned around the gag in his mouth, blinking rapidly as he tried to process his surroundings.

“Nap time’s over, dog.” Jasper’s cruel voice from somewhere above him. “We’ve got a show to put on.”

Erik’s brow knit slightly as he tried to comprehend those words. A _show? _A couple guards hauled him to his feet, wrenching his shoulder and making him let out a muffled noise again. The world spun sluggishly around him, and he shook his head to try to clear it before finally finding Jasper standing a few feet in front of him.

The general wasn’t smiling even though he’d had the pleasure of causing Erik more pain, which was odd. Instead he looked even more annoyed than usual, and Erik tensed slightly, recognizing the cold anger on his face.

“Your friends,” Jasper said, spitting out the word _friends _as if it tasted bad, “Are still in the city. That is without a doubt.”

Erik’s stomach dropped. _No, _he thought. _Don’t tell me..._

“It seems they don’t want to leave without their little _pet _in tow.”

Erik closed his eyes again, cursing every god he could think of. So they _hadn’t _left him. Instead of relief, the revelation made him feel sick, because it meant his sacrifice had been in vain—he’d become a _hindrance, _instead of a help. A liability. _Again._

Goddess above, couldn’t he ever do anything right?

“But they’re proving quite difficult to locate,” Jasper continued. A wicked little smirk finally broke out on his face, a look Erik did _not _like. “So I figure, why not make _them _come to _us?” _

Erik’s eyes widened a little bit as a sick realization of what that entailed started to dawn on him. Oh _shit, _he thought. _Fuck. _He was a bargaining chip, and what good was a chip if you didn’t use it? And of course, Jasper would get his rocks off to _that._ He really was a sick bastard.

Jasper gestured to the guards holding him, and the next thing Erik knew, he was being forced along, up to the open plaza. It was then that panic set in, creeping into his head from all sides and making his pulse race, his heart thundering away in his chest. _Fuck, _he could deal with a lot. He could deal with being tortured, for that matter—at least better than most. And if he died, then he died—Erik had sort of come to terms with that, too. But what he couldn’t deal with was knowing that he’d _failed, _that he was going to be tortured not just for Jasper’s amusement, but to draw his friends out of hiding. His friends who hadn’t _left_.

_Of course they hadn’t._

Erik groaned around the gag. What had he been _thinking?_

The guards shoved him up onto the public stage, sending him staggering, landing hard on his knees. Jasper regarded him for a moment as if regarding a fly, and then, without any warning or ceremony, kicked him, _hard. _

The steel-clad boot connected with the side of Erik’s head, sending him sprawling out across the stone motif, bright spots exploding across his vision. The pain was intense; Erik was pretty sure his brain had slammed full-on into his skull, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth. He couldn’t see or hear anything for a long moment; there was only the pain, and a loud ringing in his ears, and he moaned pathetically, rolling onto his back.

Jasper was saying something, though Erik heard it as if from far away, his voice filtering in through the white noise of his own blood; “Show yourself, Darkspawn! Or I can’t guarantee what might happen to your _friend _here!”

Erik blinked up at the sky, trying to just stay conscious and make the world stop spinning, acutely aware of a warm, wet feeling spreading across his temple. The whole left side of his face felt like it was on fire, and the pain in his chest had been reignited, a heavy, pulsing feeling like something was squeezing his lungs. _Please, _he thought, _don’t come. _He could endure this pain, as long as Eleven _didn’t come. _

Jasper clicked his tongue, looking down at Erik and crossing his arms. “No sign of them, huh?” He gestured to his men, and two of them stepped forward to drag Erik back up to his feet, holding him up when his legs refused to cooperate. Erik felt like he was going to puke.

“Well, remember,” Jasper called, looking out over the city again. “Whatever happens to him, it’ll be _your fault.”_

_No, _Erik thought desperately. _It’s mine._

Jasper leaned close to him and smiled, mirthlessly. He brought his hands up, and Erik couldn’t help it—he flinched violently. But Jasper just let out a smug little snort, untying the rag and yanking the cloth away from Erik’s face.

Erik gasped, sucking in a lungful of air and coughing, pain lancing through his whole body with the motion. His throat was raw, his jaw ached, and he spit a glob of blood out onto the floor, disgusted. Everything hurt. _Gods, _he just wanted Jasper to _kill _him already, before the Luminary came to save him, out of the goodness of his heart. Because Erik knew he would—he’d _known _that, so why had he been so _stupid?_

Jasper wouldn’t kill him though, at least not any time soon. He fisted one hand in the front of Erik’s tunic, yanking the neckline down to expose more of his chest. His other hand came up and started to glow with that all-too-familiar purple light, and Erik shuddered violently. Jasper smirked. “Well then,” he said. “Let’s have you _sing _for a bit, shall we?”

He pressed his hand against Erik’s chest and let the spell loose.

Erik screamed. He couldn’t help it—there was _no way _he could help it in the face of pain like this. Any man who could couldn’t possibly be human. The magic that tore through him was every kind of pain imaginable and worse, and Erik thought for a moment that _surely _it’d actually _ripped his lungs out _through his back, for it to hurt this much. There was no way he was in one piece—not after that. His scream was cut off when he ran out of air and _couldn’t inhale more_, and then the guards let him drop like a rock, hitting the stone face-first and writhing there, desperately.

It hurt.

Gods, it hurt so much.

And he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get a single lungful of air, and he felt like he was turning inside out, like his chest was just open, and raw, but where was the blood...? He realized very distantly that there was no blood, that he was still in one piece, at least on the surface. The same probably couldn’t be said for his insides though, and surely, there was no way he could recover from _that. _

He was going to die.

_So don’t, _he thought, through the agony splitting him in two. _Don’t come—!!_

He wasn’t worth it, and there was no point.

Even if he did survive, he wouldn’t be of any use to them.

And if he wasn’t useful, then he didn’t deserve to live.

There were so many reasons why he ought to die here. So many _good _reasons, and it was his own _stupid _fault anyway, and if Eleven came for him now then it’d all be for nothing.

But of course, Eleven came.

...

The next things Erik was aware of, through the suffocating pain in his chest, were a pair of hands on his shoulders, holding him down, and a commotion happening somewhere nearby, the clash of metal against metal. And he _knew, _immediately—he recognized the _sound. _That was Eleven’s sword.

He forced his eyes open, but all he could see above him was a blur of color, black, and white, and a shape moving to his left, someone kneeling over him. Another pair of hands touched his chest and he heard another noise, one that he didn’t recognize until the figure at his head shushed him and he realized that _oh, _it was _him, _making an ugly, broken noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp.

He realized that he could breathe again and sucked in a lungful of air, but it was too quick, and too much, and the pressure made him feel like his lungs were going to _burst._ There was a commotion above him, and then Erik registered a voice speaking to him, calling his name;

_“—ly. Erik, slowly. You have to _breathe, _honey, slow, and steady.”_

He was _trying, _dammit! But he _couldn’t, _all he could get were shallow gulps, his lungs exploding with pain every time he tried to inhale more, and _fuck, _it wasn’t enough, he was dying—

_“Honey! Erik, sweetie, calm down. Breathe with me.”_

If he’d been able to think straight, he might’ve taken offense to the term _sweetie, _but as it was, all he could do was cling to the voice and the little stability it provided. He heard the person breathing more than he saw them. _“Inhale,” _the voice said. _“Exhale. In... and out...”_

Erik tried desperately to do what the man said, trying to fight through the pain and pressure, trying to just _breathe. _He didn’t feel as if he was achieving the slow and steady pace at all, but he did notice the world around him come into focus a bit. Very gradually, Sylvando’s face swam into view, those pretty eyes of his dark, and those manicured brows drawn tight in concern.

“That’s it,” Sylvando said. “Just like that, honey. In and out...”

Erik grimaced. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t manage it—all that came out was a croaking noise, aborted by a wave of pain. Sylvando shook his head, laying a hand against Erik’s right cheek, carefully avoiding the left side of his head. “Don’t try to talk, okay? We’ll have you fixed up in no time, but for now, don’t talk...”

Erik’s eyes wandered away from Sylvando’s face. The world swam in and out of focus like some sort of kaleidoscope, dizzying and tinted faintly green, and Erik couldn’t make any sense of it for a moment until his eyes landed on the figure by his side.

“Serena, honey, how is he?” Sylvando sounded as if he was very far away.

Serena shook her head, and Erik could see the sweat beading on her brow, the shadows flitting across her face. Her wand hovered over Erik’s midsection, green healing magic flowing down and spreading across his rib-cage. Jasper had torn his tunic beyond repair, and it allowed Erik to get a good look at his chest, where black marks spread like a lightning scar across his torso, still throbbing with blighted energy. _Oh, _he thought vaguely. So that was the state he was in.

“I can stabilize him,” Serena said, “But this is really bad. I don’t know what sort of spell he used...”

They were talking about him, Erik thought. Talking about how weak he was. His focus drifted again, his eyes wandering towards the sound of fighting, and he craned his neck to try to see past Sylvando, desperate. “Eleven,” he finally managed to gasp. “W-where—?”

Sylvando tilted his head away from the noise, gently. “Shh. Don’t worry about that right now.”

But Erik was having none of it. He shifted needily, boots scraping across the stone floor. Don't _worry _about it? How could he possibly not worry about it when Eleven was over there fighting that sick _maniac _for _him? _He wanted to get up—he wanted to go to him, and help him, and apologize, and then call him an _idiot _for coming back for him, for letting his too-soft emotions rule him when he obviously should have just _left. _“Jasper,” he choked out. “H-he’s fight… ing him… alone…?”

Sylvando gave him a look of pity, pursing his lips and stroking Erik’s cheek with one thumb, trying to get him to focus on him. “Oh honey, he’ll be all right. Veronica is with him. Even if she wasn’t, mean old Jasper doesn’t stand a chance against him—not when he’s this angry…”

That ignited a spark of curiosity somewhere in the back of Erik’s mind; the Luminary? Angry? Erik wasn’t sure if he’d even seen him show that particular emotion before. He’d seen him worried, and despairing, and happy, and laughing. But even against their enemies, Eleven had always been infinitely kind, never once showing _anger, _only an odd sort of disappointment.

(He didn’t like fighting people, he’d told Erik once, back when it’d been still just the two of them, fugitives on the run. He never wanted to fight, but he never seemed to be given any other choice.

Eleven had drawn in on himself as he said it, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees and shivering a bit as he stared into the fire. Erik hadn’t known what to say then, couldn’t find the words to comfort this person who’d lost everything, who’d been betrayed, and hurt, and hunted. He knew how it felt. But that just made him more aware of the fact that words would never be enough.

So after a moment’s hesitation, he’d just scooted a little closer pressing his shoulder very slightly against the Luminary’s and hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake.

Eleven had melted against his side, and that had been that.)

But Sylvando’s words weren’t enough to calm the worry that writhed in his stomach. He closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath, biting down on his lower lip, hard. _Gods, _he thought then. _Goddess. The Seer. Whoever. Just please…_

_Please don’t let him get hurt because of _me.

He could live with a lot of things. But Eleven getting hurt because of him wasn’t one of them.

He was drawn back to awareness by Sylvando tapping his cheek again, trying to get him to look at him. It was a bit annoying, really—if he couldn’t go help Eleven, then Erik just wanted to retreat to the blissful oblivion of sleep, but _no, _he wasn’t allowed to, apparently. Sylvando was being _very _insistent.

“Erik, honey,” he was saying. “Erik, we have to go.”

Erik’s brow knit tight. Go _where? _“Eleven,” he protested. He wasn’t going anywhere without Eleven.

Sylvando nodded reassuringly. “He’ll come with us. But first, let’s get you up. Serena, sweetie, help me out.”

Erik groaned as Sylvando slid an arm around his shoulders and lifted him to a sitting position; the movement made him feel like his brain was sloshing around inside his skull. Serena helped him hold Erik upright for a moment, a small hand against his back until Sylvando could get his other arm under Erik’s knees and haul him up against his chest. Erik wanted to protest—opened his mouth to say something—but then Sylvando stood up and the whole world lurched to the side. Erik made a pained noise, his head lolling back, the taste of blood and bile filling his mouth, and he was sure for a minute that he was going to vomit, but somehow, miraculously, managed to swallow it down. (Quite a feat, if he did say so himself.)

That was all he could manage, though. He wanted to look for Eleven from this new vantage point, but then they were moving, Sylvando was taking him away somewhere, and Erik couldn’t see anything, the world dissolving into a blur of darkness as finally, blessedly, he passed out.

…

He dreamed of Mia, at first.

He saw her standing right where he’d left her (of course she was, it wasn’t like she could go anywhere else), saw her hand reaching for him in the darkness, glittering golden, and she was so desperate, the look on her face twisted in pain, and fear, and _want. _Mia had always wanted so much—it didn’t matter what it was, if Mia didn’t have it, then she _wanted _it, and since they had nothing, it meant she wanted _everything. _And she wanted Erik to save her, so badly, and Erik choked back a sob. He was _trying, dammit. _Didn’t she know he was _trying? _

_He was trying so hard, but it was never good enough. He didn’t know a thing about magic, or curses, and he didn’t know where to start, didn’t have any money, or food, or friends. He’d thought that if he went to a major city like Heliodor, then surely he’d find someone who could help him somehow, or at least point him in the right direction._

_But that had just been him being naïve. _

_Nobody had helped him—no one ever did._

He reached for her in the darkness, trying to call her name, but he couldn’t. The current swept him away, a wave during a storm. The darkness around him was water, and Erik gasped as he was sent tumbling head-over heels through the vast emptiness, letting out the precious little air in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He inhaled desperately, but all he got were two lungs full of water, thick and heavy as molasses, dark magic that wrapped itself around his insides and clung to them, dragging him down deeper into the ocean.

The next thing he knew, he could breathe again but he was crying, crouched in the snow in the Snaerfelt, lost, and cold, and terrified. His parents had fallen asleep, and they were never waking up, and all he wanted to do then was lie down next to them and let himself fall asleep as well, but he couldn’t. Mia was crying harder than him, and she was so young and vulnerable, and Erik was her big brother, he had to try his best, even if his best was _never good enough._

He turned to reach out to her, to try to comfort her, but Mia was nowhere to be seen. He could still hear her crying, but he couldn’t see her anywhere, and the blizzard was picking up, the ocean of snow around him piling higher and higher. She was buried in it, he realized, raw despair rising up in the back of his throat. She was buried somewhere six feet under—

_She’s dead, _a voice told him. _She’s dead, and it’s your fault._

No… She wasn’t dead yet—!

_Just give up. Wouldn’t things be easier that way?_

_You’re never going to be forgiven, so you might as well just _forget.

That wasn’t… That wasn’t what he wanted, though. Was it…?

He was in the darkness again, and he could see Mia shining sickly, a speck of gold in the distance. He ran towards her, even though the ocean around him weighed him down, and the magic inside him constricted and hissed like a snake, and he could hear Jasper’s voice, taunting him from somewhere far away; _“Useless. A waste. You’re really not worth anything, are you? No matter how you followed him around and begged like a little bitch for him, the Darkspawn—Eleven, was it?—ended up throwing you away.” _Erik swallowed harshly, trying to tune the words out. He knew Jasper’s type. He knew he was just trying to make him break. He couldn’t, though—he couldn’t afford to break right now. He had to get to Mia—!

But it wasn’t Mia. Erik stopped in his tracks when he realized that the statue _wasn’t Mia. _The pose was the same, the outstretched hand, the look of desperation, but it—

_“He left you here, with me.”_

Erik put a hand over his mouth and stumbled back. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the statue. _Stop…_

_“You’d never be able to save him, after all._

_"So just give up already.”_

And at Jasper’s command, Erik was consumed by the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


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